The dirty cardboard placard in the bushes adjoining Bond Street was symptomatic of the day ahead.

Next to the words "homeless and losing hope" was the message "God bless you" and a hastily drawn smiling face.

The other side of the sign was covered in dry blood and the owner was nowhere to be seen.

For one day only I had traded in my suit for the dirtiest pair of black jeans I could find, a ripped T-shirt, black sweatshirt, filthy trainers and a woollen hat.

Although my attempts to look like a beggar were relatively successful I could only touch on what it was like to feel like one.

My first destination was the Bear Pit in the centre of St James Barton roundabout.

Although it was only 9.30am three of the four subways underneath the roundabout were already occupied by more experienced beggars than me.

All were accompanied by a sleeping bag and their pale complexion was the result of living a life in fear of the sun.

The only remaining subway available to me smelt of urine and was covered in cigarette butts.

I made my intentions clear with the unoriginal message "homeless and hungry", scrawled on a piece of cardboard, and the word "thanks" etched into a polystyrene cup.

During the hour that I was there 109 people walked past. I know it was 109 because the counting helped to pass the time.

Begging is the ideal antidote to those people who think life is passing them by.

When you are reliant on other people's charity, and forced to sell your esteem for a few pence, every minute seems like an hour and every hour seems like a lifetime.

While in the subway the closest I came to getting any money was when a young kid accidentally kicked over my makeshift collecting pot.

My presence caused a mixture of feelings among the passers by.

Some seemed genuinely moved by my apparent plight while others made little attempt to disguise their contempt.

A drunk wearing shoes that were too big walked past and eyed me up suspiciously.

For many people the Bear Pit is a microcosm of all that is wrong with Bristol.

It is the first impression a lot of shoppers have of the city centre but its closeness to Broadmead makes it a popular haunt for beggars.

After an hour I moved on and my second 'pitch' was next to the HSBC bank in Broadmead, and opposite a Lloyds TSB.

Home for the next two hours was a long since closed stationery shop.

My solution to the indignity of begging was to look mainly at people's feet.

As a result I could identity the handful of people who gave me money by the shoes they were wearing.

Begging is a boring business. No thought is required and the aim is to cocoon yourself in the belief that you are being paid to do nothing.

I was so successful in switching off that whenever someone did throw some coins in my direction it served to stir me from my slumbers.

One thought that struck me as I sat there with my legs crossed, on a stone floor, was the uncomfortable nature of begging.

Within a few minutes of being in the one position your entire lower body aches.

Before long your back hurts too and your shoulders begin to slump.

Another thought that helped fill the time was the concept that begging is bad for your health.

In recent months the press have been full of stories about deep vein thrombosis (DVT).

The condition is better known as Economy Class Syndrome, and is caused by long periods of immobility, particularly while on a plane.

As begging entails hours of sitting totally still doing nothing surely it carries the same risk?

Either way, when you are addicted to drugs or alcohol, the risk of dying from a stray blood clot is unlikely to figure high on the list of priorities.

My policy of only looking at people's feet meant I was caught off guard when a man knelt down beside me and said: "I think you know what I'm going to do."

Looking up I found the local - and surprisingly compassionate - face of the Avon and Somerset Constabulary bearing down on me.

"The shopkeepers have been complaining like buggery," he said. "I don't want to nick you because I've got better things to do, so you will have to remove the sign and the cup."

With that I was off.

Begging is a pride-stripping experience. With just a cardboard "homeless and hungry " sign in front of you there is nowhere to hide.

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